You are not here
by Svetlanacat
Summary: "True friends stab you on the front." Oscar Wilde. Some people have to learn to share. Whatever the price.


_-You are not here to make friends! Do you know why? Because no matter who that friend is. Tomorrow, next week, in ten years, you'll have to leave him dead, because you'll have to fulfill your assignment, whatever the price. Perhaps, you'll have to kill him. Because he'll be a traitor! Yes, a traitor. The man who is sitting next to you, this man, is an enemy. Or he could be, one day. You are not here to make friends. Do you know why? Because no matter who that friend is. Tomorrow, next week, in ten years, you'll have to leave him dead, because you'll have to fulfill your assignment, whatever the price. Perhaps, you'll have to kill him. Because he'll be a traitor! Yes, a traitor. The man who is sitting next to you, this man, is an enemy. Or he could be, one day. You are not here to make friends. Do you know..._

The old man switched the bug off. On the screen, anyway, he could see the strained face, the fathomless blue gaze, the pale lips still moving, he could read the same words on them. Again and again.

-He repeated that for hours.

The disembodied voice gave him a start. He slowly turned his head and took a glance at the visitor. The man, in front of him, was calm. Deadly calm. But the old man could feel his wrath. His fury.

-You promised me.

The old man sighed powerlessly, lowering his head.

-Excuse me. I tried, I don't understand...

No answer. When he looked up, he was alone. He switched the bug on, took his gun and walked to the other room, where the blond man repeated, again, and again.

_-Or he could be, one day. You are not here to make friends. Do you know why? Because no matter who that friend is. Tomorrow, next week, in ten years, you'll have to leave him dead, because you'll have to fulfill your assignment, whatever the price..._

The old man planted himself in front of him.

_-...Perhaps, you'll have to kill him. Because he'll be a traitor! Yes, a traitor. The man who is sitting next to you, this man, is an enemy. Or he could be, one day. You are not here to make friends! Do you know why? Because no matter ..._

-Silence!

He had barked his order, and the other hadn't even quivered.

_-...who that friend is. Tomorrow, next week, in ten years, you'll have to leave him dead, because you'll have to fulfill your assignment, whatever the price. Perhaps, you'll have to kill him. Because he'll be a traitor! Yes, a traitor..._

-Will you shut up, for God's sake?

The voice was expressionless, but the delivery was even, kind of serene. The young man didn't recite. He ... said. He didn't act in defiance of his abductors, because he ignored them. He really looked like to be out of the world.

_-...The man who is sitting next to you, this man, is an enemy. Or he could be, one day. You are not here to make friends. Do you know why? Because no matter who that friend is. Tomorrow, next week, in ten years, you'll have to leave him dead, because you'll have to fulfill your assignment, whatever the price. Perhaps, you'll have to kill ..._

The old man pulled his gun on him, and put the barrel on the sweaty blond locks hanging down on the forehead. The other was going on, with the same faraway look.

_-...him. Because he'll be a traitor! Yes, a traitor. The man who is sitting next to you, this man, is an enemy. Or he could be, one day. You are not here to make friends! Do you know why? Because no matter who that friend is. Tomorrow, next week, in ten years, you'll have to leave him dead, because you'll have.._

The deafening bang shook the pane. The man winced, his mouth open in a vain attempt to ask, his eyes widened with surprise, and he fell in a slow motion.

_-... to kill him. Because he'll be a traitor! Yes, a traitor..._

Napoleon Solo cursed, and untied his partner's bonds, as quickly as he could. The Russian was an obedient puppet. A talking puppet.

_-... The man who is sitting next to you, this man, is an enemy. Or he could be, one day. You are not here to make friends! Do you know why? Because no matter who that friend is. Tomorrow, next week, in ten years, you'll have to leave..._

Napoleon Solo grabbed Illya Kuryakin's shoulders and shook him, ruthlessly. The Russian's head swung, but he was still going on.

_-... him dead, because you'll have to fulfill your assignment, whatever the price. Perhaps, you'll have to kill him. Because he'll be a traitor! Yes, a traitor. The man who is sitting next to you, this man, is an enemy. Or he could be, one day. You are not here to make friends..._

-Of course, yes, we are friends, Illya! You are my best friend, and I am yours! Shut up! Please, shut up!

-Napoleon!

The dark haired man sat straight on the bed, his hands grabbing desperately a torn pillow. His partner stood next to him, looking at him with concern. Napoleon Solo was panting, choking in a cloud of white feathers. Illya Kuryakin took hold of the dilapidated pillow and threw it away.

-So, now, Napoleon Solo, I am your best friend?

The blond man pursed his lips in an ironical smile. The blue eyes were twinkling. Napoleon Solo was about to recount what was eventually a nightmare, when he stopped, as he recovered his memory. He fell back on the bed., overwhelmed by an uncomfortable dizziness.

-Oh, no...

His friend's voice asked softly.

-Who told me, yesterday, that in the Candy world, there was no friendship? Who kept his chocolate box as if it was a treasure? And... who ate the said chocolate, obviously?

Napoleon Solo sighed, held out his hand, pointing at the bedside table.

-Not all of them...

Illya Kuryakin chuckled, picked up the chocolate box, and put a glass on the table.

-Some nice wizard left some magic medicine for you, my friend... Happy Halloween...


End file.
